


and i would like you (to love me)

by somethingiswrong



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Mutual Pining, fluff if you squint enough, weiss schnee being happy is the only thing that matters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingiswrong/pseuds/somethingiswrong
Summary: Love is clumsy, she says.Love trips and falls over its own words. Love falters.And her heart chooses to not wear a helmet.“Ruby,” she answers.And she’s never been so sure.--Or the one where Weiss started dating Neptune, but nothing really feels right.





	and i would like you (to love me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seolyns](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=seolyns).

> happy birthday, i love you.

“Do me a favor.”

Neptune turns at his head and down to Weiss. 

There’s this certain curiosity to it that irks her really badly.

Like everything he does.

And every step he takes and every line he tells her. 

All the flirting and all the casual eye winking. 

“Do me a favor and stop saying that I’m pretty.”

Neptune stops walking.

And so does Weiss. 

“Stop telling me I’m beautiful.”

His hands are twitching. 

It’s like he wants to say something. 

But Weiss presses anyway. 

“Look.”

“I’m the girl who knows what I am and knows what I’ve done.”

She doesn’t like to say this. 

“I’m the girl who always get the really good grades.”

But _ everything _ has been eating away inside her. 

“The girl who’s always so uptight and always get mad at the most ridiculous of things.”

She’s clutching at her dress. 

“The girl who has a lot of friends who aren’t really friends.”

(and people who kept taking advantage of her)

It’s spilling.

  
  
She breathes in--out--and sniffles.

“I’m not beautiful.”

She looks straight into his eyes.

There’s this certain bewilderment in them that makes her clench at her throat. 

“I never will be. And I’m fine with that.”

“But--”

She pauses, taking a breather. 

And she’s clenching her fists and it’s tight--it’s tight--it’s tight. 

It hurts a bit.

But she’s honestly tired.

“But when you go around, saying something that I’m not--”

“Weiss.”

He calls for her. Just something sort of a mild resentment. 

That perhaps his date with her is ruined,

and now that she’s just a mess spilling her guts out about all her wrong choices.

“Perhaps this date should end here.”

She doesn’t really reply. 

Except for this really long silence that lasts just the right amount when Neptune calls her a cab back home. 

Home, she calls it.

With Ruby.

Yang. Blake. 

She spends the rest of her time in the cab sobbing quietly in the backseat,

Eyes really not looking anywhere.

  
  
Just at the moving people and the objects that stay so still.

And the streetlights illuminating the rain that pitter-patter at the window she’s looking out at. 

Feeling like she’s somehow standing in the rain. 

_ I apologize for the inconvenience that I’ve caused you._

* * *

Ruby notices it herself first. 

_ ‘It’s not like that,’ she tells herself. _

But her eyes keep straying to the places that she shouldn’t be looking at. 

Shouldn’t even be thinking about touching.

That that corner of her mouth slightly tweaking upwards into the fullest crescent moon, at a tapered bottom of a deep sea. 

It’s like a smudge of painting on Weiss’ face, 

The very shade of turquoise blue of her eyes that twinkle, going beyond just the surface of the bluest of water. 

It’s deep.

Warm. 

A stark contrast to her standing alone back at her manor in Atlas, practicing to herself for the concert, 

with only the vibrations of her voice coming back from the walls to give her a sense of comfort.

And the contrast of that paint on her skin.

To the softness that’s beneath it. 

To the first crinkle of her eyes and the sign of her laughter coming and 

oh,

It’s so beautiful. 

It’s so beautiful when she laughs. 

And then later Ruby sees the way Weiss’ hands trembles when she gets out of the cab,

when she shoves them into the raincoat that Neptune gives to her,

and the track of tears on her cheeks and on her chin.

And the red marks around her frail arms and the way they streak such deeply. 

Though Ruby doesn’t ask.

Ruby promises herself to not ask. 

And on some of those days where Weiss always gets back late at night and wakes up so early in the morning, 

and when Ruby hears the sound of her quietly sobbing,

sinking herself away into the warm water of her bathtub.

And she sings.

A quiet tune to herself and it’s, again, the vibrations of her voice that comes back from the walls, like a sort of comfort to herself.

On those days it kills Ruby to not ask Weiss.

It kills her to not voice her thoughts. 

But sometimes she really wants to break that promise. 

Even though she swore she wouldn’t.

Because deep down she cares deeply for Weiss.

So unafraid to give her the unconditional love that she deserves. 

Because even though she promises herself not to ask, not to pry,

she can’t stop herself from noticing the little things about Weiss.

And once she’s at that progress, she can’t stop. 

Can’t unsee the things she’s wished to unsee,

unhear the sounds that she’s heard, 

and undo the things that she’s said. 

And that’s what she always does. 

That’s the thing. 

She sees the things that matter and she takes them all in. 

And truth.

Truth be told, she’s scared. 

Scared because, these days, she can’t stop herself from caring. 

And once it’s that she can’t stop herself from asking, from voicing her worries.

It gets harder by the minute.

But when Weiss quietly retrieves her stuff for the bath she’s about to take.

And to sing herself a quiet tune in the middle of the night to give herself a sense of comfort,

Ruby realizes it’s not like that.

It’s not like that when she looks at Weiss’ tired frame walking to the bathroom door,

arms so weak that she can barely open it. 

It’s not like that when she looks at her.

  
  
(it never is)

“Weiss.”

And she turns when Ruby calls for her.

“Come sleep with me.”

She makes a surprised noise, eyes looking more awake now.

“What?”

Ruby pats the empty space on the bed.

“Just for tonight.”

It looks like Weiss isn’t really here with her.

She pauses, for a moment, hesitating on such an offer.

  
  
Afraid of what may be coming later. 

There, barely a nod at her direction.

What she can see of Weiss,

of that frail frame that silently retreats back to the bathroom,

(the sound of the water hitting the end of the bathtub--the sound of it splashing--

and then all of a sudden it is quiet, 

for she did not sing to herself for the comfort of wrapping herself around that thin blanket now)

and then back to Ruby, on her bed,

seems like just a shadow.

An illusion.

It’s as if she’s not really there.

This unspoken silence where Weiss just nods at her.

And quiet. 

Quiet when she lays down next to Ruby,

voice begging her to turn around.

Ruby touches at her face. Caresses at her cheek and the tears that still aren’t drying up.

And her hair still wet from the bath.

Her eyes a hazy sort. 

And then touches at the corner of her mouth.

She seems like a ghost. Just almost.

Like so out of it. 

But when she settles herself closer to Ruby,

she’s alive,

breathing into Ruby’s neck in hiccups.

Her arms tighten around Ruby’s middle.

Her legs dangling with Ruby’s.

It’s like she’s dead,

but so unaware of how dead she feels.

She entwines herself to Ruby.

Closer to what she feels. 

The patterned breathing of a broken person who’s drifting in and out of really …

Really, just nowhere.

And it’s like how the world puts it as. 

It’s hard to let go of everything she loves.

(she shifts closer to Ruby, yet again)

For she lives in a world where she’s taught to clutch.

Though when she does it,

sincerely,

she’s left with nothing but fistful of ashes; of rose petals. 

Ruby sighs, and her arms tighten around Weiss when she hiccups again, 

her head on Weiss’ shoulder. 

_ Weiss. _

She calls out to her name, 

an inane answer backs at her that’s too tired to sound concrete.

“Hmm.”

Ruby kisses softly at the nape of her neck.

Feels the way Weiss trembles slightly at the touch, her fingers tighten at the fabric of her pajamas. 

_ Goodnight. _

She says, her voice a mirth to it. 

And then it’s silence once again. 

* * *

_The moon asked the sun, “What do you know of love?” _

She goes to Yang when the sun kisses at Ruby’s skin; and the way her hair—the red streaks—that frames her face and her arms and legs still dangling around with Weiss, and the way her shirt hikes up, and the way with how she sees the wrinkle when she grabbed at her shirt in an attempt to stop herself from feeling that certain kissto her neck. 

It’s the sort of intimacy that makes her stare at Ruby’s lips. At the way it flutters just a bit,

and how the lower lip trembles when she reaches a finger to touch at it; feel at it; caress at it.

And then she cups at Ruby’s face, palm to her chin and fingers just to the tip of her eyelashes. 

_ “It burns,” said the sun. _

That stirs Ruby, just the little nudging to the skin of her body that makes her wake up. And when she does open those eyes, with the lashes fluttering and the way she looks at Weiss with this tired, satisfied smile, her arms still around Weiss’ middle, calloused fingers from thousands of hours of combat training, a calculated precision when she shoots Crescent Rose, gunpowder fills the air and the sweat sleeks, soaking through the outfit she’s wearing, that Weiss couldn’t stop staring at, like a deer caught in the headlights, but the sort where she doesn’t know when to stop looking,

and it’s like she’s completely absorbed. 

_ “It brightens. It is something you make and then give away.” _

“Good morning.”

Her voice a soft touch to it. Her fingers delicately brushes at the strands of Weiss’ hair, a sort of adoring affection in the way she tucks it behind her ears. 

_ “Don’t listen to him,” said the clouds. _

_ “This big ball of gas doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” _

“Good morning.”

She replies back, suckles in a breath and pulls Ruby closer to herself. Her nose in Ruby’s hair and her palm to Ruby’s back. 

_ “Yes I do,” said the sun. _

She drifts off, in and out of sleep, Ruby’s arms wrap around her like a comfort.

  
  
_ “Who but me make the roses grow?” _

“What do you wanna do today?”

Ruby’s voice is raspy. The hair on her arms stand up when Weiss’ lips touch at her shoulder blade, chin tuck to it, her hand down to Ruby’s lower back. 

“Hmm …” 

She shifts herself, and her answer hums into Ruby’s skin, arms still around her middle. 

_ “We do,” said the clouds. “Love nourishes, like the rain.” _

_ “We turn the hills green and fill the creeks so they will sing in their creek beds.” _

“I have training in a few hours.” 

Ruby holds at her hand, thumb caressing at her knuckles, gingerly intertwining it with her own. 

_ “Why do you ask?” said the sun. _

“Go with me?”

She makes a noise in her throat, like she’s thinking, fingers imagining the piano keys on Ruby’s back,

and she taps.

One, two, one, two. One, two, three. 

“Hmm …” 

_ “I think I might be in love,” said the moon. _

“Will Yang be there?”

Ruby plays with the strands of Weiss’ hair and it rolls and it rolls, like the waves from the ocean that pulls back at the cold sand—it pulls and it pushes and it pulls. 

_ “I am trying to understand.” _

And she lets it go, and it falls off from her hand and down to the slender of Weiss’ back.

“Yeah,” she answers.

So when Weiss smiles at her and moves herself, with her nose so close to touching Ruby’s and her gaze that never strays, that she speaks.

“Then I’m going with you.”

Her voice sounds like she’s afraid,

Though Ruby doesn’t know what she’s so afraid of.

* * *

_So the moon went and look at the deserts. _

She goes to Yang then. 

_ They were dry and hot and empty. _

Weiss comes to her before practice starts, voice nervous and her hand shakes when she holds at the hilt of Myrtenaster, asking to speak to her.

_ “See?” said the clouds. _

“This about Neptune?”

Weiss refuses to give a definite answer.

There’s something about Yang that irks her so badly, but she knows that only Ruby’s own flesh and blood would know her best. 

_ But the deserts were still beautiful. _

So she stands there, and she gives such a tiny nod, and she says, “Yeah.”

And her eyes stray when Yang looks at her fully, lavender that ticks off to red, and then to lavender again. 

* * *

_And so the moon went and looked at the creeks in their beds, and they were cool and wet and full. And they were beautiful too. _

She sits at the park bench in one of the practice rooms that they’re in, her skirt fringes and it’s cold. 

“I don’t know.”

_ “What do you think?” the moon asked the sky. “I want to know if I’m in love.” _

Yang presses, her arms fold together and it’s defensive, “What makes you say that?”

“Sometimes it feels real enough.”

“Other times it doesn’t.”

“He always does everything that a partner should be doing.”

“A gentleman is the word. Always a good morning, good night, a bouquet of flowers when he visits me, and always the first to pull out the chair at a restaurant--first to open the door of the cab.” 

_ “Ask the earth,” said the sky, and so the moon asked the earth. _

And Yang cuts in, her voice a menace to it that puts Weiss in a surprise, 

“But does he always?”

Weiss shakes her head. 

_ “The clouds cover me,” said the earth. “They make me bloom. The sun warms me. Without them I would be cold and dry.” _

“He’s also the first to say I’m beautiful.”

_ “You would be ugly without them, that is love?” _

Yang rephrases it, 

“He’s the first to tell you that you’re what he wanted.”

And Weiss is silent. 

“Not what he loves.”

Yang unfolds her arms.

  
  
“When he wants you for you, he takes you for himself.”

“He lets you be beautiful as how much he wants you to be beautiful.”

_ “I would be cold and dry,” said the earth, “but not ugly. You are cold and dry, my little one, and you are beautiful.” _

“I,” she takes in a deep breath, like she remembers, “I know.”

Yang sighs, her arms fold in again. 

“You’re trying for a relationship that’s not gonna last.” 

“I know.”

“There’s nothing logical about this.”

(nothing logical about cutting off the most important part of herself and then putting it inside the hands of the man that can’t ever handle her, the hands that shake, the hands that tremble, and the hands that cracked underneath the littlest of pressure) 

_ “Not like you,” said the moon. “Not like the ocean.” _

“I know.”

_ “No one is like me. No one is like you,” said the earth. _

Yang shifts herself on one foot, and she asks, “Then what gives?”

_ “I feel loveliest when she holds my light,” said the moon. _

There’s a million answers she could have gone with this. A million of interjections that could have left her lips. A million ways to count at the stars and a million ways to retrace her steps back to the first day. 

A million ways to hear back again to the sound of the ocean hitting the shore. A million ways to sing herself a tune and sink down into the warm water in the bathtub. And a million ways to hold back her choked sobs, so she can quietly curls herself into the blanket of her own, like she’s alone, alone, and drifts off to sleep. 

It’s never enough. It’s never been enough. 

She’s a woman, made of skin and bones, and hair and sweat and veins and nerves.

  
  
Never of apologies. Never of excuses. Never of another woman Neptune pries at, or the hand she tries reaching out to, for a temporary comfort that has now made her nothing but in the cover of her own skin. 

_ “Who is it that you love, my child? What kind of love do you wish?” _

It’s like, how they say it. That time heals all wounds. Though she doesn’t know what to do on the days where it feels like the hands on her clock have arthritis.

That it aches, and it pains, and it just stops working. And when it ticks back, the blood that pumps through her veins gets her to breathe again. And it’s like she was drowning.

  
  
In the ocean. In the water. 

In herself. 

_ “Are there different kinds?” the moon asked. _

And it’s hard to stop loving the ocean, even if it leaves her gasping, 

Salty. 

So when the love she has for Neptune stops, and leaves, slowly, though she’s so unsure if she’s ever loved him since the beginning, like baby teeth, losing parts of herself that she thought she needed, she knows the love is gone. 

That the relationship is over, and everything after is just her prevailing something that is doomed to fail. 

_ “That the sun warms me and pulls me in. The clouds cover me, when they remember. The sky turns every color for me. How do you and yours love?” _

And she remembers back to when she’s wrapped around protective arms, a soft voice that murmurs her a goodnight, that kisses her forehead and holds her tight in her sleep like she’s the very last thing that’s alive, that she answers. 

_ “We dance,” said the moon, and they knew she meant the ocean. “I push and she pulls. I rise and set, she rises and ebbs. She pushes, I pull. We go around and around and I watch her tides and I do not think I will ever tire of calling her beautiful. Is this love?” _

Love is clumsy, she says. 

Love trips and falls over its own words. Love falters. 

And her heart chooses to not wear a helmet. 

“Ruby,” she answers.

And she’s never been so sure. 

* * *

_“It is only your own reflection you see on the ocean’s surface,” scoffed the clouds. “It is like when the sun sets, and calls us beautiful, but it is only his own colors he loves.” _

No calls, no notes, no reminders. 

No more bouquet of flowers or the first to open the door to the cab or to hold her hand or to tell her that he’s gonna be there to protect her. 

Just a simple, four word message. Left on her desk and it’s in cursive, the writing, not his, but from the penman down the street where she introduces him to. 

It says, to end things here, where it never started in the first place, and that he was just to get her as a bet he made for himself. To see how soon she’s going to cower to him. 

And cower she did.

And cried she did also. 

_ “I love her even when I shine no light,” said the moon. “Maybe I love her most then.” _

On some nights she wonders to herself if men were to curl themselves around her like a question mark. To learn how it feels like when they think she is a problem they have to solve. 

To admit that they don’t have the answers they thought they would have, and she was never a metaphor, a problem, or a possession they have over. 

She’s human, made of skin and bones and veins and nerves.

And she’s never think about that so hard. 

* * *

So when she calls for Ruby, voice sick and tired and it’s clogged from the tears she has yet to spill that day, it’s soft.

_ “You only love her because she follows where you lead,” said the sun. _

“Come,” she pauses, tears already down her cheeks and it covers at her neck, like it’s choking her, like she’s gasping in the ocean, 

salty. 

“Sleep with me.”

She curls around herself. 

“Just for tonight.”

_ “It is a dance,” said the moon. _

_ “It is self-centered,” said the clouds. “Bossy. Mean” _

It’s silent when she finishes her sentence.

Silent when she feels the bed sinks and arms around her. 

Silent when she turns around, pulls Ruby closer to her, and sobs quietly into her skin.

_ “She is the heart of my orbit,” said the moon. “I will live my life by her until she is gas and I am dust and the universe is cold and dead.” _

And silent, when Ruby kisses her forehead and tells her, softly, like she’s the only thing that matters, a goodnight. 

_ And the sun and the clouds were quiet and went away, and the stars came out from where they had been listening. _

And she stays that night.

Till morning rises, when the sun kisses at her skin and she’s still there, 

content, quiet, 

in Ruby’s arms.

* * *

_“Is this love?” said the moon. _

Ruby didn’t ask questions. 

Ruby walks with her to class. 

Ruby lets her pulls out her own chair when she sits with her at the breakfast table. 

Ruby sits next to her, the sound of her pencil scribbling on paper, on blueprints. 

Ruby polishes and fixes Myrtenaster. 

Ruby yells at her when she falls asleep in the bathtub.

_ “You are not asking the right people,” said the stars. _

Ruby pulls at her high heels and put bandages around the bruises on her ankle. 

Ruby carries her back to their room. 

Ruby crawls into the empty spaces on the bed and she wraps her arms around her. 

Arms, legs, dangling with each other. 

_ “I have asked the sun, who burns,” said the moon. “I have asked the clouds, who cover. I have asked the sky, who stays forever. I have asked the earth, who made me.” _

“Neptune dumped me,” she remembers saying, six months ago. 

And Ruby says nothing when she starts to break after the sentence, but to whisper to her. 

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. 

* * *

_“But have you asked the ocean, who loves you?” said the stars. _

So when one morning she wakes up, and feels the caress of Ruby’s thumb on her face, that she realizes. 

_ “Oh,” said the moon. _

“Weiss.” 

Ruby’s eyes at her, staring, and she lights up when Weiss responds.

“Yes?”

_ And so the moon went down to the ocean and asked, “Is this love?” _

She picks up the strands of Weiss’ hair, twirls them around her fingers, and she smiles. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

And Weiss starts to sob. 

_ And the ocean said, “Yes.” _

**Author's Note:**

> work partly inspired by Rudy Francisco and Sarah Kay. 
> 
> the poem written in the story is "the moon asks a question" by dirgewithoutmusic. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680390)
> 
> beta reader: Heulo (thank you mi amiga)


End file.
